


Handcuffs

by wheel_pen



Series: Indigo [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Indigo feels uncomfortable being handcuffed at a crime scene. Normally as a slave he wouldn’t have a choice, but his current master wants him to communicate his needs better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handcuffs

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.  
> Inherent in slavery and other forms of subjugation are dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, and violence.  
> This story has not been Britpicked. Please let me know if I get anything horribly wrong.  
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

It was three AM in a dodgy part of London, the kind of place where locals had the gall to chastise the police for their lights and sirens this time of night, and Sherlock was hopping around with more excitement than the rest of Lestrade’s team put together. Body handcuffed to a pipe in an old maintenance room; only it seemed like he’d been dead _before_ being restrained, which seemed a little overcautious unless of course you feared zombies.

Sherlock had half a dozen theories, various mixtures of mad and brilliant, and all completely unprovable at this point. On the practical side, he’d provided several clues to the identity of the victim _and_ the person who handcuffed him to the pipe, who was not necessarily the same as the person who killed him. According to Sherlock, anyway.

Indigo stood quietly off to the side, alert to any indications that his master might need him, or conversely, was about to run off without him (again). He’d already poked at the days-old body and given his medical opinion, matching what the police coroner had noted, but Sherlock liked independent confirmation. Now his role was to be part of the audience, watching Sherlock’s brilliant performance until he decided to move to a new venue, hopefully someplace nice like the morgue (when had that become _nice_?) or the library where Indigo could take a nap. He could tell Sherlock was too worked up to go home.

Unfortunately, tonight Sherlock wanted some audience participation.

“No, look, don’t you understand what I’m telling you?” he snapped at Lestrade. “Well, clearly not, no one would _pretend_ to be that dense.” Lestrade rolled his eyes. “Look, I’ll show you. Indigo, come here. Let me have your handcuffs.”

Indigo had a bad feeling about this, but he came as instructed. It would be alright, he told himself. It was just a demonstration, no one was going to hurt him or leave him there, he was just helping Sherlock solve a crime. It was a good thing. But when he saw the steel handcuffs in Sherlock’s hands his mouth went dry and his stomach roiled. He kept his hands tucked behind him, trying to look casual.

“Indigo, give me your hands,” Sherlock instructed.

The slave hesitated. “Why?” he asked, although the answer was pretty obvious.

Sherlock was expectedly disdainful of the delaying tactic. “Why do you think?” he said sharply. “Give me your hands, I’m going to cuff you to that pipe so Lestrade can see the shadow I’m talking about.”

Lestrade could easily see Indigo didn’t want to do it, which was understandable. “It’s alright, I can picture it,” he claimed.

Sherlock saw through _that_ right away. “Obviously, you _can’t_ ,” he contradicted snottily, “or you wouldn’t be drawing such inane conclusions. Indigo!”

Indigo kept his hands out of sight. “Um… Could I _not_?” he asked quietly.

Sherlock blinked at him. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to _leave_ you there,” he added patronizingly, as if this was a foolish concern.

“I’ve got the key,” Lestrade assured him helpfully, in case Sherlock got inspired and ran off despite his promise.

Indigo took a deep breath and bit his lip, trying to will himself to do it. He almost held out one hand, then at the last second recoiled. “I would really rather not,” he told Sherlock apologetically. “Er, it would upset me.”

He wasn’t sure if Sherlock remembered his own advice to the slave from a while back, but after a moment his meaning became clear. “Oh,” Sherlock responded.

“Sorry,” Indigo added quickly. Lestrade’s gaze pinged between the two of them with interest.

“Mmm,” Sherlock muttered, reversing gears quickly. “Alright, well, I need a volunteer to be handcuffed to the pipe!” he announced loudly to the room at large, as if they all hadn’t been surreptitiously listening to the entire conversation.

“Why can’t _he_ do it?” Anderson asked pointedly, indicating the only slave in the room. Indigo relaxed; Anderson’s protest pretty much _ensured_ Sherlock wouldn’t make him do it.

“Anderson, thank you for volunteering,” Lestrade said, summoning him with a jerk of his head.

The other man grumbled but approached without trepidation, and Indigo stepped back discreetly. “Ridiculous, exactly what slaves are for,” he muttered, kneeling on the floor as directed.

Sherlock snapped the cuffs on him. “Anderson, he offers more use to the universe standing there _breathing_ than you have in your entire career,” he declared meanly. He stood back up and positioned a police light like the sun coming in through the window. “You see the shadow _now_?” he said to Lestrade. “Anderson, don’t fidget, you’re supposed to be dead.”

“Why’m I sitting up, then?” he asked petulantly.

“The body must have been propped up somehow,” Sherlock realized, starting to get excited again. “Quick, everyone outside, we’re looking for metal bars or stakes, before they get scavenged!” He took off out the door, Indigo behind him.

“Hey, what about—!”

“Relax,” Lestrade told Anderson, kneeling to unlock him. “I’ve got the key.”

**

Later, much later, they were sitting in the bathtub, Sherlock reveling in the completion of another case, Indigo reveling in the opportunity to get clean after digging through trash for hours. They’d already had two showers and he was idly thinking a third might be necessary, for his own peace of mind. Sherlock’s peace of mind had been achieved—temporarily—by solving a puzzle, sending the police racing after a suspect whose identity was so certain to Sherlock he didn’t bother tagging along. Which was alright with Indigo, whose plans for the rest of the day consisted of 1) shower; 2) victory sex; 3) shower; 4) tea; 5) bath; with number six being either more food or a nap, whichever seemed most urgent.

“G-d, did you see Donovan’s face when that rat ran by her?” Sherlock reminisced, barely able to sit still in Indigo’s embrace. “I thought she was going to taze it!”

“Mmm, I don’t like rats either,” Indigo commented, rewarding Sherlock’s moment of calm with kisses along his neck and shoulders. His hands dragged a washcloth lazily over Sherlock’s chest.

“But it was the angle of the shadow, that was the key to the whole thing,” Sherlock burbled on. “After that it was simple geometry…” He lost focus slightly when Indigo nibbled his ear.

“Nice that Anderson was useful for once,” Indigo agreed, having come to share Sherlock’s dim view of the man based on his own observations.

“Mmm, yes… Indigo.” Sherlock’s tone was suddenly weightier, and Indigo cursed himself for triggering this conversation with his unnecessary remark. Sherlock took the slave’s hands in his, looking at them as if they might answer his questions for him. “Why didn’t you want to wear the handcuffs? Relax,” Sherlock encouraged as Indigo tensed around him. “I didn’t make you, did I? But I want to know why.”

“Thank you for not making me,” Indigo told him. This was not enough for Sherlock, of course. “Um, I have had bad experiences with handcuffs,” he tried vaguely. Sherlock waited. “And being left in them for a long time, in places I didn’t want to be.” He hoped no further detail would be required, because he’d spent all day tamping down the fragments of memory that had bubbled up since that moment, and really did not want to let them loose, even to think about a brief summary.

“I wouldn’t have left you there,” Sherlock promised, when no more information was forthcoming.

“You did leave Anderson,” Indigo pointed out in a lighter tone. He nosed Sherlock’s damp curls to show he wasn’t upset at him.

“Pffft, Anderson,” Sherlock dismissed, splashing some water around. “The man couldn’t even do a competent job pretending to be a corpse.” Insulting Anderson was familiar, comforting territory for him.

Unexpectedly Sherlock started to move, sending a tidal wave over the side of the tub as he turned around to face Indigo. “Careful, you’ll hit the faucet—“ Indigo warned, grabbing his shoulder to keep him close.

Sherlock looked at him very seriously. “I wouldn’t handcuff you and leave you somewhere,” he promised.

“Or tie me up,” Indigo added, since he was promising.

Sherlock blinked. “Or tie you up and leave you. General restraints of any kind,” he agreed. “Wait, what about a locked door?”

Indigo frowned. “Are you planning to lock me in a room or something?” he asked suspiciously.

“Not _planning_ , no,” Sherlock hedged, “but it seems more likely, if I didn’t want you to follow me somewhere, or if I was demonstrating something like today—“

Indigo made a face. “That’s very broad, I’m not sure I could say at the moment,” he decided, slightly unnerved by these scenarios being on the table. Well, it was Sherlock, he probably just wanted to be accurate, and honest—both of which were appreciated. “Could we just ban personal restraints for the moment?”

“What about seatbelts?” Sherlock checked seriously, and finally Indigo smiled at him, lifting wet hands to card through his hair.

“Seatbelts are okay,” he said. “Could I just let you know, in the moment, if something bothers me? Like I did today.”

Sherlock nodded. “See that you do,” he replied, managing to sound authoritative even while naked in a bathtub. “I’m glad you told me today, instead of just getting upset and brooding about it later.”

“My master wants me to have better emotional health,” Indigo claimed cheekily, pulling Sherlock down to nuzzle his neck.

“Oh, is _that_ what this is called…”


End file.
